


your blood in mine

by brophigenia



Series: the one with the vampires [7]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Little Less Sixteen Candles (Music Video), Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Fingering, Biting, Blood Drinking, Fight Training, First Time, Half-Vampires, M/M, Ronan Lynch: Vampire Slayer, Vampire Bites, Vampire Hunters, Vampires, You'll see what I mean, as foreplay, kind of, y'all i'm here and i'm queer and i'm ready to post about some vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-24 17:36:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20911493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brophigenia/pseuds/brophigenia
Summary: Adam Parrish was a performance.(AKA, Ronan Lynch has a lot of feelings, and very few healthy coping strategies. Or, the Pynch side of things.)





	your blood in mine

**Author's Note:**

> babes, i said i was gonna finish this, and i am going to finish this. one more fic after this one, and then the one with the vampires is done. 
> 
> title from the queen of the damned soundtrack. cut lyrics from mcr.

_ for the last night i lie _

_ could i lie with you? _

_ *** _

Training had been a daily part of his life since he was old enough to understand what lurked in the dark, waiting, on the fringes. Since he could comprehend his father’s speeches about their anointed status as guardians against the demons, the creatures of the night. 

Ronan Lynch had the body of a fighter; thick through the shoulders and waist, biceps prominent and wrists sturdy, knuckles always painted blue-black with bruises. It was a set of traits he shared with his father, his brothers, all the ancestors named _ Lynch _ he had never met and would never meet, because they’d fallen in the name of the duty that had been (according to family legend) bestowed upon them by God Himself. 

He had the body of a fighter and the soul of one, too; he had never been at peace unless there was a brawl to be won, a battle to undertake. 

(This was a lie; he’d not been a fighter, as a child. He’d been a creator, a feathery-haired knobby-kneed thing with a smile always tugging at his lips. He’d learned, though, that the world was cruel to children, to creators. His father had died and Ronan had _ learned.) _

Niall Lynch died in the dirt, head broken open and blood _ everywhere, _ not illustrious. Not gilded in majesty. Not _ anointed. _Niall Lynch died a man, and Ronan learned quickly that there was nothing but what they made for themselves, nothing but the legacy they would leave behind on the world, that mattered. 

(Ronan did not want to leave behind a legacy flowing with blood, but he knew that that’s not a decision he could make. Not with a name like _ Lynch, _a mark he can’t shake off. Not with the rage that lived in his throat, waiting. His own Mark of Cain.) 

***

Adam Parrish was a performance. 

Every single movement, every single moment, was planned down to the smallest gesture, the shortest phrase. He had spent a long time planning, thinking, learning, _ working. _Working himself to the bone to achieve his goals. 

Becoming a Half Vampire hadn’t been part of the plan. Hadn’t contributed to any of his goals. 

Had only been a _ horror, _ to wake as something _ Other, _ something unnatural. Alone, in a ditch, _ changed. _

His goals had shifted, from _ money and power and retribution _ to _ Glendower and Glendower and Glendower. _

Sixteen was a terror of a year. 

***

“Put your hands up. Shield your face.” Ronan’s voice was clipped, and he circled Adam with frosty detachment in his posture, all of him upright and _ ready. _

Adam bristled, but followed the instructions, brought his fists up so that they could hover in the air in front of his chin. He could still see the fading bruises on Ronan’s throat, fury rising in him whenever he considered how Ronan got them. He kept his expression blank, his annoyance hidden behind the blank mask that he _ knew _made Ronan furious to see. 

“Feet further apart.” Adam went to comply, widened his stance, but something made Ronan huff impatiently, compelled him to come correct Adam’s foot position himself, kicking them apart with his knee nudging the inside of Adam’s thigh. It was a surprise, an unexpected point of contact that made Adam want to shudder. He barely suppressed the urge. 

He could feel his fangs wanting to drop, shifting up in his gums restlessly. He swallowed the blood that the shifting produced, thick with saliva and enough to have him a little feral around the edges. 

“Now,” Ronan said, coming to a stop in front of Adam. “Stop me.” It was all the warning Adam got before Ronan was charging, right cross into a jab that had him stumbling back, keeping his arms up to shield his face like Ronan had told him, twisting his body in an attempt to ward him off. 

It didn’t work; Ronan took the advantage to put a fist in his kidneys, wrapped an arm around his neck to drag him in close, too close for Adam to get any kind of leverage. Up close, Ronan smelled like gasoline and asphalt and blood, like iron and salt. It was so fucking much. Adam’s teeth were out, everything gone sharper and brighter like it did when his eyes had shifted. 

“Fuck you—“ he spat out around his fangs, struggling to dislodge himself from Ronan’s grip. It didn’t work, and with a heavy grunt Ronan had them on the ground, front to back with one arm around Adam’s throat and the other free to tap at his heart, pointedly. 

“If I had a stake,” Ronan rasped in his ear. “You’d be dead.” 

Adam went lax for all of a second, eyes closing and chest heaving, before he exploded up off the ground, off of _ Ronan, _ who let him go. “Fuck you, Lynch.” He said again, and his heart thundered, pumping stolen blood and Holy Water in equal measure. _ “Again.” _

Ronan rolled to his feet, cracking his neck, sinuous and light-footed. Adam couldn’t stand the sight of him— couldn’t stand the consideration he saw in Ronan’s gaze, the change in his stance from _ teacher _ to _ predator. _

“You sure, Parrish?” Ronan sneered, and stretched his arms above his head, showing off a strip of pale, flexing abdominal muscles. His teeth flashed white when he grinned. “Don’t think you’re much of a fighter.” 

It was purposely mean, goading. Adam wasn’t oblivious enough not to know that Ronan _ liked _this. 

(He was not deluded enough to think his own erection was just a consequence of adolescence, either.) 

“Again.” Adam demanded, and this time, it was his turn to charge. 

Ronan blocked his first punch and took the second with a bark of laughter, spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the hardwood floor. Gansey would bitch about it later. He couldn’t care less. 

“Maybe you’re a real boy after all, Parrish,” he said, and the lesson continued.

Adam stayed hard, but Ronan didn’t mention it. Adam didn’t mention Ronan’s arousal either, and figured it drew them something like even. 

***

The concoction was something Ronan had made a tentative truce with Declan over— a pause in the fighting and the fury and the _ grief. _A reprieve as they did what they did best— solved a puzzle, fought a battle, lost the war. Blood, animal and bagged. Holy Water, fervently-blessed. Various chemicals for both weakening the body and strengthening it. It stopped the breakdown of their tissues, kept them moderately fed, tamped down the madness that threatened to surface whenever tensions ran too high. 

Gansey had made it four years without the stuff, though by the age of fourteen he’d cobbled together his own version, animal blood from a butcher shop mixed with enough horse tranquilizers to take down a stallion, only to be taken when the situation was dire. 

Adam _ loathed _the mixture, but drank it without complaint whenever Ronan got out the blender and prepared a batch, warming it in the microwave in some kind of attempt at kindness, at thoughtfulness. Adam didn’t have the heart to tell him it made no real difference— Ronan used a fucking candy thermometer to make sure it was precisely 98.6 degrees, perfectly analogous to the temperature of fresh human blood, straight from the vein. 

So, yeah. Adam drank his dose with no complaints from whatever receptacle Ronan chose to serve it to him in, whether that was a beer stein or a Nalgene or a cracked mug that read _ Alexandria Police Department Annual Fun Run 2007. _ It bought them time, if not... _ satisfaction. _

Ronan watched him, each time, eyes dark and intent as they measured Adam’s swallows against the number of ounces in his cup. There was nothing that Ronan didn’t see. Nothing that could pass unnoticed by his eyes, pale as a predator’s. 

***

The _ meeting _ with Kavinsky’s crew was a load of bullshit. Even to Ronan’s ears, which perked at any mention of _ hope _ and _ plans, _ burned with the helplessness of his rage. Fucking _ Piper Greenmantle. _ They’d taken out her husband and his wannabe-immortal bullshit, very nearly died from it, and here they were having to deal with some blonde Barbie doll and her misfit toy squad from hell. They’d come seeking Glendower, just when it seemed like Glendower might be found after all this time searching, combing through the hills and history of Henrietta for the location of the elder vampire. The _ eldest _vampire. 

It was all the same, for these types. They wanted to live forever. But they didn’t want to deal with the consequences. Piper Greenmantle had come to Henrietta seeking the eldest vampire so she could take all of the power and none of the thirst. 

Like she was something _ special. _Something better than the rest of them, who had fallen into this life like tripping into the pits of hell. 

Ronan felt that in his _ teeth. _

He kept his mouth shut during the process, letting Gansey talk about possible tomb locations and his brother argue with Jiang about strategy and placement of troops like generals thrice their age. They were into it, worse than Ronan had ever seen his brother argue with anyone but a Lynch where anyone but a Lynch could see. Even that was only a dim spark of curiosity; everything else was narrowed to the strength in his limbs and the proximity of Adam, who listened with his head cocked and his arms crossed. 

Their eyes met, once. Ronan looked away sharply, a flush rising to the back of his neck. He caught Prokopenko’s gaze as he did. It was bright with amusement. He blew half a kiss, cheeky and taunting and dismal all at once. 

***

“You _ stupid fuck!” _ Ronan hissed to Gansey’s voicemail, pacing the floor and clawing at the back of his head, hand wanting for the curls he’d shorn off the night of his father’s funeral. “I told you, I _ told you--” _ the phone beeped, and an automated voice spoke pleasantly. _ The voice mailbox you are trying to reach is currently full to capacity. Please try again later. _Ronan shouted wordlessly in response and flung his phone across the room where it shattered with an unsatisfying kind of crunch. Glass was better. It made a sound that mattered. A sound that you felt in your teeth. Plastic wasn’t like that, not at all. 

It pissed him off.

“Ronan,” Adam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he did when he was craving blood and death. “He’s not going to answer.” 

“Fuck you, Parrish.” Ronan snapped, but without heat. He stalked to the windows and looked down at the lot, at the glaring absence of the Pig. Of _ Gansey. _

“Kavinsky isn’t picking up, either.” Adam said, gesturing down at his own cell phone, a cheap thing he’d bought at the Dollar General with only the barest minimum of prepaid minutes. _ For emergencies only. _

“It’s just us, then.” Ronan said, blinking hard. Trying to rearrange his head. Trying to put aside his anger and his fear. Everything was fucked up. 

They needed an advantage. They needed a Hail Mary. They needed _ something. _

“I have an idea.” Ronan said, slowly. “But you’re not gonna like it.” 

***

“You’re not gonna be too rough on me.” Ronan said, rolling his eyes, mouth tight. Trying to be brave. Adam rolled his eyes in return, swallowed down the way he wanted to take Ronan’s words at their face value. The beast in him and the teenage boy, both. 

“If I wanted to be _ rough _ with you, Ronan, I _ would.” _ Adam murmured, and reeled Ronan in with a hand snagged around his wrist, until there was hardly an inch of space between their mouths.

“Do it.” Ronan challenged him, those clear blue eyes flashing. _ “C’mon, _Parrish.” Taunting and pleading all at once. 

The puncture wounds on his neck had only just closed. Adam debated putting his own there, covering them up. Erasing Prokopenko’s claim, however feeble it was. 

He didn’t want it to be like that, though. Like this was nothing but jealousy and territorialism. Hormones and instincts, instead of a declaration. Instead of a _ decision. _

Adam cupped his hand over Ronan’s neck, stroking the hinge of his jaw with a calloused thumb. He watched the flutter of Ronan’s thundering pulse, his jugular. Full of blood. Hot and not diluted with herbs and Holy Water. 

He kissed a clean spot of fair skin, soft as a butterfly’s wings. Tender, gentle. As gentle as a boy like Adam Parrish knew how to be. As tender as a beast like Adam Parrish knew how to be. 

His teeth slid in easily. Adam groaned, deep in his chest, lapping at the stream of it, of the blood, of _ Ronan’s blood, _like nothing he’d ever tasted before. Ronan shivered in his grip, like he couldn’t stop. 

_ Adam _ couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop, and he didn’t _ want _to. Ronan clutched the back of his head, pulling him closer, like he didn’t want Adam to stop, either. Like they could stay like this, forever, Adam feeling more alive than he had in all the days and nights since the change had gotten its grip on him, not completed but not reversed, either. 

They parted reluctantly, when the scant section of Adam’s brain that _ wasn’t _overwhelmed with the taste of Ronan’s blood realized how sluggish the beat of Ronan’s heart was becoming. Adam went to pull away completely, but was stopped by Ronan’s grip on his hair. 

“I want…” Ronan said, trying to enunciate. Trying to make himself clear. It was now or it was never, when they were this close and they were both hot with shared blood. 

“Tell me,” Adam mumbled, slow and dreamy like he was drunk, like he was high, like he was_ out of his goddamn mind. _ It was ecstasy to Ronan’s ears. Prim and proper and straightlaced Adam Parrish, slurring his words and leaning heavily on Ronan, _ because _ of Ronan. Because of what was making Ronan feel weak at the knees, the drip of blood on his throat, sluggishly leaking out from where Adam had _ bitten him. _

“Just- _ inside.” _ Ronan whispered, clinging. Undone. Uncaring of how it made him seem. Speaking pressed into Adam’s cheek, keeping them close together. That’s what he wanted. He wanted to have them close like this, so close it was like they were one person. One _ thing. _ Ronan’s heart could beat strong enough to keep them both alive, pumping blood hard enough to circulate through both sets of their veins. 

Adam didn’t ask any more, shoving spit-slick fingers down the back of Ronan’s pants, too-tight to let him move the way he wanted, but Ronan didn’t have enough coordination nor will to open his flies, give Adam more room to work with. It was enough, anyway; the slightly-too-dry press of Adam’s fingers _ into him. _ He’d done this before, when it was too-late and he couldn’t sleep and not liquor nor racing would calm him down. He’d bore down on his own fingers and pulled at his own cock and thought desperately of Gansey’s hands, Noah’s eyes, Adam’s _ everything. _

Adam, Adam, _ Adam. _ It was too good. Too shallow and too dry and too good, and Ronan’s hips ground forward, then back, stuttering as he groaned and grunted and thrust. He wanted to be fuller. Wanted Adam’s teeth and his fingers and his _ cock, _something for all the places he felt empty. Wanted Adam to tear open his chest and climb inside and stay. Just stay. 

“Ronan.” Adam whispered, harsh and soft. He was everything. _ “Ronan.” _

Ronan came, clutching around Adam’s fingers and to Adam’s shoulders and deep in his gut. 

***

“I’ll get Sargent.” Ronan said shortly, when they’d both caught their breath and he’d finished drinking the orange juice Adam had pressed upon him, though all he wanted to do was to stay close to Adam, to keep up the connection that had formed between them sometime between the bite and the orgasm. He’d thought it would help, to get Adam like he had wanted, before. To span Adam’s ribs beneath his hands and to touch their mouths together, sharing breath. Unafraid of rejection, unafraid of his wanting, which had become a separate entity in his body like a floating rib. 

“And I’ll get Gansey.” Adam replied, like he felt the same. Ronan couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t _ bear _it. 

He didn’t say anything, only turned to go, shrugging into his black leather jacket. 

“Ronan.” Adam said sharply, as he hit the threshold. Ronan didn’t turn, shoulders drawing tight. He thought of the story of Orpheus that his mother had told him often as a boy, tucking him up in his bed after a long day of training, bruised and battered. Orpheus’ courage had failed, and he’d turned around to look at his… his beloved. Doomed them both. 

Ronan waited, but he did not turn. The place where Adam had bitten him throbbed in time with the place where Adam had stretched him open, all of him claimed now. 

“Be careful.” Adam said, low, and Ronan spared half a nod before he left, widening the aching hole in his gut. 

***

“Look _ away!” _Blue hissed, hidden behind a bush. Ronan, leaned up against the BMW, rolled his eyes expressively. 

“If I see something I like, I’ll throw a dollar at it.” He drawled, but shrugged out of his jacket and flung it in the direction of where she was crouched naked in the fauna. She emerged a moment later; his jacket hung clear to her bony knees, its sleeves rolled several times over themselves until her square-palmed little hands were exposed to the air. Her fingernail polish was green and chipped. There were leaves in her hair. In the moonlight, his silver crucifix shone like mithril. 

“You ready to go, Ginger Snaps?” 

Blue punched him in the side on her way around the car, her features arranged into something like a tribe of carnivorous hunter-gatherers might have painted onto their war-masks in the early days of the earth. It was impressive. Ronan was impressed. 

It wasn’t until they were on the road, Blue’s favored local radio station tuned in and her knees pulled up beneath her chin, bracken-laden feet smearing mud and detritus onto his leather seats, that Ronan spoke again. 

“Does it… feel good?” He whispered, low enough that she could pretend she didn’t hear him, if she wanted to. 

Blue looked out the passenger side window into the dark depths of the blurring forest laid out like the night sky had fallen to earth. She didn’t reply for a long moment. 

“You have no idea.”

***

“What have you done, Adam?” Ronan whispered, voice thick, chest full of horror. So full up of it that his eyes shone terribly. “What the fuck did you _ do?” _

Adam, with his shoulders straight and his jaw tight to contain the extra teeth, only levelled a look at him, far away from the boy he’d been only hours ago. The boy he’d been with all those ambitions, all that hope, gone now. Eyes flat. Ronan had always heard that they lost their souls, those who went fully through the change and came out the other side as one of _ them. _

A vampire, fully and completely. 

He’d never really believed it. Couldn’t believe it, because it sounded like just another excuse, just another bullshit reason that he had to _ kill _ instead of _ save. _Now, confronted with the blankness of Adam’s face and the bleakness of what he could see as a doomed situation, Ronan knew he’d been kidding himself. 

“What I had to.” Adam responded, shortly, and then turned away from Ronan to face the rest of them, the second gathering of their allies, both friend and enemy. They waited for him to speak, rabid with it, the hole where Gansey ought to be and was not glaring and terrible. Blue was the worst of them all, eyes glowing and mouth held taut so as not to tremble like the rest of her was, practically vibrating. Ronan wondered numbly how badly it hurt her, not to be changed beneath the full moon. How terribly the silver cross he’d strung around her neck was burning, holding her in this form. 

What the fuck had _ happened _ in that cave? Where the _ fuck _was Gansey? 

“Piper Greenmantle is dead.” Adam said, grimly. 

***

_ don’t return to me, _

_ my love. _

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ brophigenia.tumblr.com


End file.
